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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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LINES AND INTERLINES 



JULIA P. BOYNTON 



Sing ! sing of what ? the world is full of song ; 

And all the singing seems but echoed notes 
Of the great masters who, when souls were strongs 

Rolled sturdy paeans from rejoicing throats. 

— A Masque of Poets. 




NEW YORK k. LONDON 

P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

1887 



\' 



:•] 



COPYRIGHT BY 

JULIA P. BOYNTON 



Press of 

G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York 






5' 



TO JEAN. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Repetition . . i 

Endowment 2 

Edelweiss 3 

Silver Lake 4 

Absent : To J 6 

Anticipation 8 

We Touch and Leave 10 

Zenith 12 

A Legend of the Bell 14 

Wild Iris 21 

Milkweed 23 

Wild Tiger-Lily .26 

Trillium 28 

Lionel to Lorain 29 

Lionel to Lorain . , . . . • . • 33 

Lorain to Lionel 35 

Good-Morning 37 

The Passing of Angels 39 

V 



VI CONTENTS. 

The Other Side ....... 41 

The Gate Beautiful 43 

In Love with Life 45 

Trust! 48 

The Pilgrim and the Pearl . . . . .50 

Birch Creek 55 

The Tragedy of a Field 58 

The Opal . . 61 

Limited 63 

Vigil 66 

A Day of February 69 

Baby Alice 71 

Rubinstein's Melody in F 73 

Eostre . . 74 

New Year , ... 75 

The Poplar .76 

Pere la Chaise ...,,.. 77 

Milkw^eed in Midwinter . , , . , /S 

Warning -79 

Nulla Dies Sine Linea 80 

To Raoula 81 

Unsung 82 

On an Etching by J. A. S. Monks .... 83 

Divided 85 



CONTENTS. Vll 

November 86 

The Dead Word 87 

December . . 88 

At Parting 89 

To M. A. D. 90 

Marsh Rosemary 91 

Dusk or Dawn? 93 

Refuge 95 

To Robert Collyer 96 

Blanco 97 



REPETITION. 



All hath been writ ; the Psalmist was a man, 
And Sophocles, and Shakspere. Ay, the heart 
Knows neither age nor nation, What is art 
But the stupendous polyglot we scan 
For that same spirit, which, since time began, 
Hath urged its full expression. Ah, the smart ; 
For all their pain they voiced the lesser part ; 
A depth unreached beneath all language ran. 

All hath been writ ; then, foolish hand, lay by 

Thine eager pen, and lest, for all its zeal, 

It earn thee but the reproach of plagiarist. 

All hath been writ ; yet, scarcely knowing why, 

We echo on, for deep within we feel 

A something, strenuous, strong, that doth insist. 



ENDOWMENT. 



Book of Exodus^ iv. , 1-6. 

Is it a sceptre, brush, or pen, or gold, 

Or spade, or sword, or simple household skill ? 

Child, cast it down, if so the Lord doth will. 

Perchance a marvel like the one of old 

Shall teach thee awe of that which thou dost hold, 

And reverence, lest thou should'st use it ill. 

Now take it up ; let its possession fill 

Thy heart with joy and check thee overbold. 

What hast thou then ? nay, few have empty palms. 
And such may lift them up for Heaven's sweet alms. 
As oft the shepherd's as the ruler's rod 
Hath been the instrument elect of God. 
Yea, though I hold so slight thing as a song, 
There is a silence where it doth belong. 



EDELWEISS. 



These for a proof of where my wanderings go. 
Witness of height, — no rose nor laurel green, — 
A few of many blossoming unseen 
On virgin peaks, the children of the snow. 
No faintest flush they catch from alpen-glow, 
And some, I know, will count my trophies mean. 
But one mayhap will lay them soft between 
The leaves of some loved volume. Be it so. 

These for the joy of climbing ; poor and small, 
Of hasty choice, pulled careless by the way. 
And these for fame ; the guerdons of a day ; 
See how the bloom has withered ! let them fall. 
And these for grief ; the shadow of the pall 
Has turned their pallor to an ashen gray. 
These last for love, at Love's dear shrine I lay 
The purest and most perfect of them all. 

3 



SILVER LAKE. 



What time, O Silver Lake, our languid oar 
Trailed through thy dimpling depth of borrowed 

blue, 
I know a sweet enchantment hovered through 
Thy lilied wave and rose-embroidered shore. 

At golden noon the velvet-fingered air 
Wrapped us about in still solemnitude ; 
And then at eve the tender spell renewed, 
And bound us all in dreamy dalliance there. 

And measured to the drip of lifted blade 
A song, in mellow cadences astray 
*Mid twilight glooms of violet and gray, 
Our lingering presence fitfully betrayed. 



SILVER LAKE. 5 

Ah, yet one bright receding view I claim — 
When the low sun a burning arrow sped, 
That pierced the clouds and fired the hills with red, 
And, falling, turned the lake to crimson flame. 



ABSENT: TO J- 



Ay, soon, 

If the blue sea, grown sudden dear 
Since late your presence it has known 
A little while, were bridged indeed, 
As in my vv^ish, — ay, soon from here 
I 'd slip away o'er my bridge alone, 
And follow fain where it should lead. 

So true, 

So true, the matchless rose that shed 

Its passionate fragrance yesternight. 

Half-sensed, unvalued, — now, alas. 

Seems doubly dear, since it is dead. 

And never any equals quite 

That perfect bloom which memory has. 



ABSENT : TO J . 

And now, 

Good-night across the sea. I know 

Wherever this warm sun your cheek 

May kiss, — what alien skies o'er bend, 

You hear the word, for always go 

From heart to heart, thought-birds to speak 

The messages our souls would send. 



ANTICIPATION. 



With face framed In between my hands, 
To shut out autumn's gold and red, 

I credit it is early spring, 

This field with such soft green is spread ; 

The boding winter over-past. 

With all its chill, unfriendly hours, 

And, by some fairy marvel brought 

Another summer's warmth and flowers. 

What purple light takes yonder crown 
Of stately trees that top the hill ! 

What mellow tints the hither fields, 
With dipping hollows, lone and still ! 
8 



ANTICIPATION. 9 

O emerald wheat and copses strewn 
With russet leaves ! O winds that sigh 

And rustle through the crisping trees, 
How do ye seem to glorify ! 

From every vagrant brook that drags 

Its thread of crystal idly by, 
To all the land-reach hid and hung 

With violet distance, lost in sky, 

For one so soon shall gaze and smile. 
And stretch glad hands to these and say, 

" The dear, familiar place again. 
Unaltered since I went away ! " 

Then haply I, " Small beauty these. 

Dearest, compared with whence you Ve come." 
Oh then the quick, '^Ay, more than all ! 

For you are here, and this is home ! '' 



WE TOUCH AND LEAVE. 



We touch and leave, for this is earth, indeed. 
And we are human, short of angelhood 
In that we cannot bear too much of good. 

Be it sword or rose-thorn, equally we bleed. 

Ah, Heaven ! to face thy glory without need 
Of tears between to spare our dazzled eyes. 
Ah, Love ! to taste thy cup unmixed with sighs 

To make the draught less tempting to our greed. 

We may not scorn whom the Apostle chid 
For going hungry to the Eucharist, 
To feast on holy meat, they little wist 

The meaning in the sacred supper hid. 



WE TOUCH AND WE LEAVE. II 

The flesh, through lapse of years, betrays us kin. 
From whatso grosser passions v/e are free, 
God save us from our finer gluttony ; 

God give us Pauls to point our subtler sin. 

Wherein we let the real becloud the sign, 

Wherein confound the means with the great end, 
Be it gold, or love, or happiness, or friend, 

We tamper with the blessed bread and wine. 



ZENITH. 



Life, withhold ! you have overfilled my cup, 
The precious sweetness I may never taste 
O'erruns the brim ; O Life, forbid it waste 
Upon the ground where none may gather up. 

Seal up the flask, lest this too lavish wine 
Steal all the wonted flavor of the bread. 
Oh, leave me still some wondrous scroll unread. 
And let me take the lesson line on line. 

Through all the throbbing joy steals yet a fear,- 

1 tremble as I clasp the darling boon ; 
Must it needs be this passionate tropic moon 
Leave polar chill to all the desolate year ? 

12 



ZENITH. 13 

The bud has burst its calyx, and the bloom 
Is on the fruit. The eager hands obey 
Tfie impetuous heart, and love will have its way. 
The box is broke, and odor fills the room. 

The sunny summits beckon, we must climb. 

One breath of heaven makes braver lungs for aye. 

One flash from the Eternal rends the clay, 

And leaves transformed the irk of flesh and time. 



A LEGEND OF THE BELL. 



Gaston, a monk of Gastonbury, wrought 
A bell of brass ; and, when 't was finished, brought 
The ponderous thmg one day to Charlemagne, 
With modest hope the emperor would deign, 
By that rare grace which dwelt within his breast, 
A pious brother's faithful work to test. 

The bell was hung ; and scarcely had the clear. 
Deep, potent tone caught the imperial ear, 
Than the astonished sovereign cried, ^* Enough ! 
What mighty angel *s chained in the base stuff ? 
Gods ! if vile brass speak with so sweet a tongue. 
What chimes from nobler metal might be rung ! 
Hear ye ! I Charlemagne, Lord of all the Franks, 
Command ye hasten with a monarch's thanks 

14 



A LEGEND OF THE BELL. 15 

To the recluse from Gastonbury. Hold 
The man at court until he shall be told 
My further pleasure. Also I desire 
That every mute cathedral tower and spire 
In my domain, henceforth this master teach 
To peal its message in this noble speech." 

Next day it pleased the gracious king to hold 

A private audience with the monk. He told 

The dear desire he cherished in his mind,— 

A mammoth silver bell, to freight the wind 

With such a burden of delicious sound 

As should be heard through all the region round. 

So told the king his thought. The holy man 
Of Gastonbury heard the splendid plan 
With pious rapture. If it pleased the king 
In very truth to trust so rare a thing 
As this great silver bell to his poor skill. 



l6 A LEGEND OF THE BELL. 

Nor sleep nor rest should visit him until 

His sovereign's gracious word should be obeyed. 

Back went Monk Gaston, with all speed, afraid 

Lest Charlemagne should recall his princely trust, 

Back went Monk Gaston. On the way the lust 

Of wealth, the greed of gain, the love of ease, 

Like a false siren with all pov/er to please, 

The holy man confronted ; rather say. 

Crept shyly after him, as if in play ; 

Stole clinging arms about his neck, and played 

With his rough hempen girdle ; even made 

His rosary a necklace for her fair. 

White, treacherous throat. Ah, Gaston, do you dare 

To suffer such impiety ? 

More fast. 
So 'companied, the monk pressed on. At last 
The silent cloisters to their gloomy rest 
Received the tempted brother and his guest. 



A LEGEND OF THE BELL. 17 

Hardly the cell- door closed upon the two, 
Than the fair stranger on the stone floor threw 
Monk Gaston's sober stole and hempen zone, 
And clothed the humble man in robes that shone 
With gold and gems like Charlemagne's. She 

pressed 
Such nectar as his lips had never guessed 
Upon him, faint and weary and athirst, 
Till he was drunk with poisoned wine. Then first 
The siren, Greed of Gain, drew down elate 
The tonsured head of the poor celibate 
Upon her breast ; in night's deep slumber sunk 
AVith troubled dreams, the prostrate, conquered 

monk. 

So, long together wrought the wedded twain, 

The monk, poor slave, with the strong Greed of 

Gain, 
Labored in secret on the mighty bell ; 



l8 A LEGEND OF THE BELL. 

The silent abbey walls would never tell 
How Charlemagne's royal favor was betrayed, 
How all that argent bounty Gaston laid 
Away for his own spoil, and, in his sin, 
Made the great bell of copper, using tin 
To mask the copper's red plebeian cheek. 
Yea, if the bell itself should try to speak 
The shame and the deception, who would know 
How to translate the burden of its woe ? 

Ah, but Monk Gaston fell asleep one night, 

And it befell a little acolyte, 

In search of bat or rat, or some such beast. 

That vexed the slumbers of his holy priest. 

To hear the monk, himself but half awake. 

In dreams confess his sin. But v/ith the break 

Of day the boy forgot the night's event. 

Or thought it was a dream maybe. So went 

The days until the bell was all complete, 



A LEGEND OF THE BELL. I9 

And trembling hung, about to pour some sweet 
And solemn message, some stupendous hymn 
In repetend sonorous from its rim. 

Beggars and burghers, courtiers and the king 
Waited to hear the first low murmuring. 
The instant gift of speech, the power of song, 
Fall on the precious monster. All the throng 
Cried out impatient when Monk Gaston yet 
Once more climbed to the ladder's top, to set 
The whole in nice adjustment. Every eye 
Beheld the monk and his embodied lie. 
When, suddenly, the mighty creature swung 
Without a hand to move it, and the tongue 
Crushed Gaston's skull with one revengeful stroke, 
Then, like the voice of outraged justice, broke 
In loud complaint ; the while the acolyte 
Recalled, his memory prompted by affright, 
The monk's confession, and he cried : " The Bell ! 



20 A LEGEND OF THE BELL. 

I know its secret, for I heard him tell 
The story in his sleep. He did not use 
But hid King Charlemagne's silver ! " 

So the news 
Of the monk's treachery fell upon the crowd, 
And Charlemagne heard it, and proclaimed aloud : 
'^ As dies the monk for this most shameful wrong. 
So ever fall Heaven's vengeance, swift and strong. 
Henceforth be known the Bell, till time shall end. 
The champion of Justice and her friend i ** 



WILD IRIS. 



Down in the pasture, half in shade, 
Knee-deep in water flowing, 

Like bare-foot children going to wade, 
Is fair blue iris growing. 

No sweeter wildling finds the bee, 

A-roaming honey-laden. 
Than this quaint peasant y?^^/r-^<?-//V, 

This meadow gypsy-maiden. 

In her Hippolyte I see, 

The precious zone defending ; 

Or Sheperdess of Domremy, 

Her sovereign's cause befriending. 



22 WTLD IRIS. 

This patch of sharp green blades, thick set 

In marshy water borders, 
A troop is, dread with bayonet. 
And under marching orders. 

The splendid squadron passed review 

In June ; in gallant manner 
Its bristling ranks stood, strong and true, 

With many a brave blue banner. 

Alas ! it was a brief campaign ; 

I saw them when 't was over, 
The dragon-fly came not again 

Nor any loyal lover. 

With blades a-rust, not one blue flag, 
(How far they must have wandered ! ) 

Save one pale, tattered azure rag 
Borne on a broken standard. 



MILKWEED. 



Did you guess the enfolded wonder 
Would you pass the milkweed by, 
Leaving all its silken plunder 
For the winds, when burst asunder 
These rough pods, so brown and dry ? 

Stand they in the golden weather, 
Like brave knights in armor dressed, 
Merry companies together, 
Each one with his snow-white feather 
Waving for a gallant crest ; 

Or like seers in olden story. 
With their ancient heads all bare, 
23 



24 MILKWEED. 

Crowned with reverend locks and hoary ; 
While their beards* soft, shimmering glory- 
Floats upon the autumn air. 

What this wayside waif is sharing 
With the wind and passer-by, 
Wondrous is, past all comparing ; 
Fit for sylph's or spirit's wearing ; 
Fine as mist-webs spun in sky. 

Come and gather at your pleasure 
(None will hinder, none will heed !) 
All your eager hands can measure. 
Lo ! more fair than orient treasure 
Is the death-shroud of a weed ! 

Clinging, loosening, rising, gleaming, 
Wandering with the wandering breeze, 
See you not a silver seeming. 



MILKWEED. 25 

Airy types of human dreaming, 
Shapes of idle reveries ? 

In the milkweed-pod discover 
Heart of hope and heart of youth, 
Marvellous fancies running over, 
Soar and glisten, cling and hover. 
Ah, too soon each happy rover 
Beats against earth's stubborn truth ! 



WILD TIGER-LILY. 



Isolate in her conscious grandeur, creature of a 
royal blood, 

She doth rule, the one unrivalled Cleopatra of the 
wood. 

Something in her regal stature, 

In her fierce and fervid nature. 

Brings to mind a vivid vision of the Lady of the 
Nile. 

How the splendor of her presence, how her 
sudden-flashing smile 

Glorifies the slumbrous spaces of the dusky forest 
aisle ! 

And a face of Orient oval, olive-browed, and mid- 
night-eyed, 

26 



WILD TIGER-LILY. 2^ 

Looks from flowing, flame-hued draperies in its 
dark, imperial pride. 

While a figure fancy fashions, faultless in its mould 
and mien. 

Supple, sinuous, seductive as some tawny jungle- 
queen. 

Then, as though a gathering tempest smote athwart 
^olian wires. 

All athrill with pride and passion, sad as death, a 
voice inquires : 

** Do you wonder at my Roman ? do you marvel 
how I died ? " 



TRILLIUM. 



Go to the May wood and you find it swayed 

By absolute triune royalty. The rose 

Will at her own divine caprice unclose 

Or seven or seventy petals, unafraid 

Of surfeit, sure no scantiest gift shall fade 

Unwept for. But the steadfast trillium knows 

No variance ; ever leal where e'er she blows 

To that far law for her sole guidance made ; 

You shall not force her yield, by drought or chill, 

One only segment of her three-fold crown. 

And though you swore that never bloom before 

Beheld so fair a double in the rill, 

This modest flower would never, for renown, 

Augment her beauty by one petal more. 



28 



LIONEL TO LORAIN. 



I have pondered since I knew thee 

All the path that led me to thee, 

And I marvel that I find it not with roses over- 

strown. 
What of bloom or garland truly 
Were too fine to garnish duly 
The approach unto a temple, the glad highway to 

a throne ? 

I lived on, not once foretasting 

That glad moment toward me hasting ; 

Sooth the herald of salvation was the faint light of 

a star : 

Heaven's first court on earth a manger, 

29 



30 LIONEL TO LORAIN. 

Ah, Beloved, is it stranger 

That upon us unforewarned dawned love's dazzling 
avatar ? 

Yea, I loitered unaware ; 

Trifled on the sacred stair ; 

Even passed the blessed portal, ere burst forth the 

joyous bells. 
Then adown the aisled splendor, 
With his smile divinely tender, 
Came dear Love, earth's saving angel, with his gift 

of immortelles. 

Prone at level of his sandal 
Fell I, all unmeet to handle 
But the border of his vesture ; and I cried, O shape 

of grace. 
What am I, that I should merit 
Such high favor to inherit ? 
Royalty is in thy bearing, revelation in thy face. 



LIONEL TO LORAIN. 3I 

Then he stooped and raised me, holding 

That low posture, softly folding 

One long kiss, (O condescension !) his own seal 

upon my brow. 
And there flowed at this caressing 
Sanction for the bygone ; blessing, 
Hope and blessing for the future, courage for the 

fleeting Now. 

Then from out a golden urn 
Poured he drops that seemed to burn. 
And he gave the draught in silence ; I received it 
speaking not ; 

Bitter with earth's infinite sadness ; 
Sweet with all sweet Heaven's gladness ; 
So that ere I drained the goblet, its first flavor was 
forgot. 

Still within his courts I linger, 
Touching with thrice reverent finger 



^2 LIONEL TO LORAIN. 

Whatsoe'er the benediction of his presence e'er 
hath known. 

And I find that hither, yonder, 

Wheresoever his feet may wander. 

All he looks upon or touches is with roses over- 
grown. 



LIONEL TO LORAIN. 



I weary of this English, Dear, 
Whereof 
A thousand spin their common lays of love. 
O maiden without peer ! 
And shall thy lover swell the vulgar bruit, 
And play thee music on a borrowed lute ? 

Would, Oh, would I could find and learn 
Some tongue 
Wherein no soul has ever spoke or sung. 
So that my love might turn 

And overturn the strange new words like flowers, 
Fragrant and fresh and pure and wholly ours. 

Through all my gardens. Sweet, I seek. 

And find 

33 



34 LIONEL TO LORAIN. 

No blossom fit to type thee to my mind. 
They all are pale and weak 
From too much service ; rose and rosemary 
Have played their parts for thousands such as we. 

Would, Oh, would the earth but yield 
For me 
One bloom which never other eye did see ; 
Wherein should be revealed 
All charms which to all other flowers belong. 
Then might I symbol thee nor do thee wrong. 



LORAIN TO LIONEL. 



Love, though these verses sped from Ind, 
Would not your quick eyes pierce the blind ? 
Would not you find 

Proof absolute of the hidden source ? 
A subtle something, — word or phrase, 
Some scarlet thread for the tangled maze ? 
You would read as I write it, interlined, 

Of course. 

But then if I perchance should think 
Your glance might fail of the spirit ink, 
A flower of the pink 

Laid on the leaf to scent it through. 
With its ardent odor of clove, v/ould reach 
Its secret key for the occult speech, 

35 



36 LORAIN TO LIONEL. 

And forge in the chain the last strong link 
For you. 

Or still, lest you fail to understand, 
From my idle left to my writing hand 
A slim gold band 

I would move, that its burden of prisoned flame 
Might light the page ; and though a host 
Of hands wear opals, you would boast— 
"Ah, now, 't is out beyond remand — 

Your name ! " 

No trick or feint should further cheat, 
To you the rhyme and the rhythm's beat 
Would be replete 

With evidence complete and free. 
And out of silence a voice would sing, 
" Do you shame me so with your flower and ring ? 
I hear you speak, and I know you. Sweet, 

Trust me ! '' 



GOOD-MORNING. 



LIONEL TO LORAIN. 



Good-morn, Beloved, for the sun has set. 

The honey-suckle and the bitter-box 
And all the roses with night dews are wet. 
The long, long day is over, Sweet, and yet 

My heart persists in this glad paradox, 
Good-morning ! 

Not as of old is each new day begun. 

With joy upon me like a draught of wine, 
One smile to make my light in gloom or sun, 
And a dear presence, when the day was done, 
To fold me close and wish me, lips on mine. 
Good-morrow ! 
37 



38 GOOD-MORNING. 

The fates have wrought reversal. Sun and star 
Have changed. In sleep I live and move and 
wake. 
And when I wake indeed, all things that are 
Seem half unreal and dim, since you are far. 
My lips repeat, but for old habit's sake, 
Good-morning ! 

Ah, friend ! I see you not save in the land 

Of dreams ; and so I follow with glad feet 
The blessed angel with the poppied wand. 
For there I see you, kiss you, catch your hand, 
And hear once more your voice in greeting sweet, 
Good-morning ! 



THE PASSING OF ANGELS. 



From yon bright room I hear the sound 
Of mingled voices this gay night, 

And oftentimes the speech is drowned 
In silvery waves of laughter light. 

It flows and ebbs, and ebbs and flows, 
That tide of soul from man to man, 

Now faint as wind at even blows. 
Now thunderous as the decuman. 

Question and answer, plea and jest, 

Warning, remonstrance, — till the strean^ 

Falters a little in its zest, 

And wavers like the speech of dream. 
39 



40 THE PASSING OF ANGELS. 

Swiftly a hush runs through the crowd, 
As bidden by some secret Will, 

The last stray words sound strange and loud, 
They cease, and all the room is still. 

*T is but a moment till the thread 
Of talk is found, but while it last, 

That brief sweet hush, I bow my head, 
The Germans say an angel passed. 



THE OTHER SIDE. 

Across the river's level, blue expansion 

Lie the green meadows of the other side ; 
Bright with the gleaming towers of many a mansion, 

Bathed in the happy sun and glorified. 
Naught of the noise, the trouble, and the clamor 

Is hither wafted, for the wave is wide ; 
Only the peace, the beauty, and the glamour 

Rest, like an Eden dream, beyond the tide. 

O shore ! we stretch our hands with vain insistence, 
Unmindful of the beauty that is near. 

Remembering not the purple garb of distance 
Hides the same rugged paths that vex us here. 

Yea, some sad soul this moment, over yonder. 
Views us through the same magic atmosphere ; 
41 



42 THE OTHER SIDE. 

Looks hitherward with envy and with wonder 
Impatient of the waves that interfere. 

Ah ! not in place, nor circumstance, nor station, 

Inhere the bliss and blessing we so crave ; 
Our uplands shine, at times of revelation, 

As fair as those the farther billows lave. 
Yet truth begs oft, with whatsoe'er credentials, 

How many times shall we the barrier brave, 
To find we had already the essentials 

That made so sweet the land beyond the wave. 

Nyack-on-the-hudson. 



THE GATE BEAUTIFUL, 



How many wait 

In impotence beside the temple gate ; 

Fast closed to such because of feeble feet, 

The Beautiful, by whose abundant grace 

The throngs press inward to the holy place, 

The courts of peace, with incense rich and sweet, 

O Gate ! O Gate ! 

How do we mourn and blame illiberal fate ; 
What passionate kisses dim thy shining brass ; 
We moisten with what hot rebellious showers 
Thy threshold stone, worn by no foot of ours ; 
How do we catch the robes of those who pass 
Upright and v/hole, hope glowing in their eyes, 
Unsandall^d to prayer and sacrifice. 

43 



44 THE GATE BEAUTIFUL. 

We beg for alms. 

We cry aloud and stretch importunate palms, 

We wrong our souls with beggarly request, 

When haply, on a sudden, some divine 

" Such as I have," pours out its healing wine. 

We rise and leap and praise God with the rest, 

Lo, bread for stones, a dowry for a dole, 

The Beautiful is open, we are whole ! 



IN LOVE WITH LIFE. 

I am in love with life. The versatile, 
Rich, changeful world flows round me like a sea 
Mixed of all various vintages that be, 
Wherein I reach my goblet at my will, 
Godlike, and take my fill. 

I have not missed the sharp sting like a knife. 
The bitter drops, the vapid froth, the lees, 
Yet doth my soul insist, in spite of these — 
Division, throe and thralldom, swoon and strife, 
I am in love with life. 

Ah, faithless, do I hear you say, repeat 
Some reasons why I am in love with life ? 

45 



46 IN LOVE WITH LIFE. 

One June is twelve-month joy ; one rose is rife 
With rapture for a week ; your smile, my sweet, 
Makes this day's bliss complete. 

Take June thrice twenty times ; and multiply 
One blossom by a million ; for a glance, 
The lease of loving that a lifetime grants. 
Yea, hope of love and life that does not die, 
Then do you ask me why ? 

I dare not spurn my spirit, I confess 
Its least delight ; from verse to violets. 
Calm converse to the meet of mind that sets 
The cheeks aglow ; from my dog's fond caress 
To hearth-side blessedness. 

How other can our spirits* compass grow 

From earth's scant limits to that farther range 

Of knowledge high and pleasures great and strange, 



IN LOVE WITH LIFE. 47 

Except we yield ourselves to see and know 
Their earnest here below ? 

My glad soul stands alert, with many a door, 
All opening divers ways, yet all with one 
Divine intent, — to catch the advancing Sun. 
The glory oft so floods both roof and floor, 
I cry. No more ! no more ! 

I am in love with life ; not this alone, 
This casual arc by which we guess the whole, 
This preface whence we predicate the scroll, 
But that far flower from the sorrow-sown 
Sad flesh, the sweet Unknown. 



TRUST! 



Lover or friend, oh, I would write this verse 
In blood, would'st thou observe the hue it wore, 
And, since such ink must leave its sources sore, 
Would value so , but thou, with comment terse. 
Yawning mayhap, ^^ Those stanzas might be 

worse,'* 
Wilt fling the page aside and think no more, 
And go to let unfaith in at the door, — 
The same old cruel drama to rehearse. 

Ah, woe is me ! why will we never take 
Our wisdom by adoption, but must own 
In absolute possession, bone of bone. 
And flesh of flesh, born of the personal ache, 



TRUST. 49 

Valued and cherished for the agony's sake, 
Our likeness in its every look and tone. 
This precious child ! oh, would its hand alone 
Have led and stayed our footsteps when they 
shake ? 

Oh once be warned, though in all else thou must 
Explore, — bring back a frost-bite from the pole, 
A life-long scar from a Vesuvian coal. 
Subject all flavors to thy proper gust, — 
Yet once with abstinence inform thy dust ; 
Forevermore let faith possess thy soul ; 
No trial of slight or silence claim its toll 
Of doubt ; O friend or lover, trust, trust, trust ! 



THE PILGRIM AND THE PEARL. 



A weary pilgrim slept upon the strand, 

In night's deep calm ; 

And when the morning first sent o'er the land 

Her breath of balm, 

The Pilgrim woke, and, 'mid the weed and sand. 

He found a wondrous Pearl within his palm. 



He looked upon it there so chastely white. 

And smiled to see 

The silver sphere break into emerald light. 

Then changefuUy 

Play mimic sunrise in the dawn's despite ; 

And cried ; " How fair a thing is come to me ! 

CO 



THE PILGRIM AND THE PEARL. 5 I 

Those gleams of green its ocean source betray. 

From deeps upborne, 

Some mermaid in my hand this gift did lay 

Which she has worn. 

But where was caught that flush like break of day 

Save in the rosy regions of the morn ? " 

And so the Pilgrim pondered o'er his prize. 

Its beauty shone 

So dazzling on his unaccustomed eyes, 

That one by one 

The happy hours sped as the eagle flies, 

And evening found him dreaming there alone. 

But when the night dropped down with dusky 

wings, 
A sudden thought 

Came to his mind's confused imaginings, 
And terror wrought. 



52 THE PILGRIM AND THE PEARL. 

This gem might tempt the envious gaze of kings ; 
How guard the dread boon given him unsought ? 

He flung the jewel from his hand. Affright 

Fell on his soul. 

He fled into the darkness of the night. 

The breakers roll 

Grew slowly fainter, till his ear lost quite 

The ceaseless throbbing of their thunderous dole. 

At length athirst and spent, upon the ground 

The man dropped down. 

*^ O sea," he cried, ^' Take back the gift I found 

For naiad's crown ! " 

But even as his sandals he unbound. 

The Pearl slipped from the girdle of his gown. 

^*0 Pearl of price," the Pilgrim murmured slow, 
'' I sought thee not, 



THE PILGRIM AND THE PEARL. 53 

And thy possession, danger, fear, and woe 

To me has brought. 

Have done ; thou art not mine, and thou must go 

Back to thy native sea and be forgot.'* 

He sped once more back to the shore to hurl 

The gem among 

The seething waves ; he watched them slide and 

curl ; 
But ere he swung 

His arm aloft to fling away the Pearl, 
His name behind him clear and softly rung. 

And suddenly stood by him on the marge 

Of the hushed sea, 

A wondrous presence, luminous, and large 

With majesty. 

The voice said : *^ Thou art weary of thy charge ; 

Confide it, then, O troubled soul, to me. 



54 THE PILGRIM AND THE PEARL. 

I gave it thee, and I will keep the trust ; 

Thou needst not fear. 

It shall be safe from avarice and lust ; 

And some glad year, 

When thou, released at last, put off this dust, 

Thou shalt receive thy treasure ; be of cheer." 

The man obeyed with joy ; the vision passed. 

In swift release 

Oi mighty waves the spellbound ocean cast 

The tides' increase, 

With foaming thunder on the sands. At last 

The happy Pilgrim went his way in peace. 



BIRCH CREEK. 



IN THE SHANDAKEN VALLEY. 



By Wittemberg and Panther and Belle-Aire 
Loiters and strolls at will this gay trouvere, 
And gazes up with dreamy hazel eye 
Upon the fair green Mountains of the Sky. 

O fresh and sweet 

Through summer heat 
He makes the valley for their royal feet ; 

O copse and lea 

Forever be 
More blithesome for his happy minstrelsy. 

His vagrant path is crowded, left and right, 
With woodland folk who listen with delight ; 

55 



56 BIRCH CREEK. 

Bevy of bloom and riot of wild vine, 
Flower and weed in all their bravery shine. 
The goldenrod 
Doth sway and nod, 
Fit for the helmet feather of a god. 
The glooms of fern 
To glory turn 
Where the fierce scarlet bergamot doth burn. 

Here glimmers pale the daisy's snowy disk, 
And leaning headlong, careless of the risk. 

And of her treacherous foothold mid the rocks, 
The thirsty aster bathes her purple locks. 
Yonder displayed 
In dusky shade, 

The cardinal-flower gleams like a murderer's blade. 

> 
So sad and gay 

Make holiday 

About the gentle minnesinger's way. 



BIRCH CREEK. 57 

And scattered by their almoner, the breeze, 
He doth receive the largess of the trees ; 

Gold by the glittering handful lavished down, 
Mingled with glowing jewels from their crown. 

O bard, repeat, 

Thy lyrics sweet ! 
Enjoy thy summer, for the hours are fleet 

To do thee wrong ; 

A foe erelong 
Shall hush thy voice and smite the listening throng. 



THE TRAGEDY OF A FIELD. 



There was a field lay glad in early dew, 

Where arm in arm with the tall grasses grew 

Clover and crimson cockle, and a few 

Rough thistles, which, since heaven their ostracism 

Confirmed not, but poured out her blessed chrism 

Of sun and rain on whatso flower did sue 

With lifted lip, the field might not eschew. 

Wild mustard, like a spot of fallen sun. 

So yellow you would never notice one 

Gold butterfly, or say they fed upon 

Its petals for the color of their wings. 

These and a host of other sweet wild things, — 

Convolvulus which the fence did overrun. 

And many a daisy white-frilled like a nun. 

58 



THE TRAGEDY OF A FIELD. 59 

And in the midst a streamlet did divide 
The field's green lips \yith melody. Its tide 
Scarcely the bobolink's morning bath supplied, 
But the wild iris for the stream's sole sake, 
Blue with her favors all the banks did make ; 
Sleek minnows in the pools did dart and glide, 
And buttercups leaned bright from either side. 

The merry swallows made the tall grass sway 
Beneath their glancing wings. A dim, green way 
Full many a sparrow knew, to where, some day, 
Instead of silent eggs within the nest, 
Four precious fledglings should reward his quest. 
A meadow-lark sang loud and set his spray 
A-tremble with his passionate essay. 

A field lay wounded ; its embroidered weft 
Rent in a thousand rags ; outraged, bereft 
Of bloom, its cherished nests laid bare to theft ; 



6o THE TRAGEDY OF A FIELD. 

All such small secrets, hid so lovingly, 
Told rudely to the far unpitying sky ; 
And every spray of fragrant clover cleft 
Asunder — not one crimson cockle left. 

Yet, field, charge not the reaper's hand with wrath, 
To thy life's purpose led no other path, — 
Seed-time and sunshine, sorrow and the swath. 
Still mercy waits in many a sudden burst 
Of healing rain upon thee faint, athirst. 
And dying. Lo, beyond the sickle's scath 
The chastened promise of the aftermath. 



THE OPAL. 

Thou wierdest jewel that was ever worn ! 

I look on thee, 

And dream of emerald meadows in the spring ; 

The slumber-flush on the fresh cheek of morn ; 

The cloud where the sun's last fierce kisses cling ; 

The oriole's wing ; 

The pearly petals of the fleur-de-lis ; 

The intense, clear beryl of the ocean wave, 

A moment caught 

Ere the first flexure of its fragile edge ; 

The slant beam flooding some cathedral nave, 

Cleaving the soft gloom with its rainbow wedge ; 

The irised fledge 

With which the angels' radiant vans are wrought ; 

6i 



62 THE OPAL. 

That bay whose azure pales the blue above ; 

The alpen-bloom ; 

A southern sky with saffron isles of dream, 

Whereround the ethereal waters glistening move ; 

The fairy arc limned by a lunar beam ; 

The lurid gleam 

Where the Vesuvian cresset lights the gloom. 

Of old, when in a monarch's aged frame 

The life ran low, 

The rich young tide from some plebeian vein 

Still fed its fires. So with thy changeful flame ; 

How shall its splendid lustre ever wane 

Wherein so plain 

A thousand jewels' restless spirits glow ! 



LIMITED. 



O Love, this cup of mine is all too shallow, 
Wherein thy generous vintage I must bear ! 

Life, full half thine acreage lies fallow 
Where I can never drive my ardent share ! 

My eager hands so tremble that they spill it, 
That priceless wine, — alas for haste ! but then, 

Repentant tears run down again to fill it. 
Till all the scanty chalice brims again. 

My own small plot yields blossoms in abundance. 
And wheat enough to serve my life-long leaven ; 

1 plough and prune and check the weeds' redun- 

dance. 
And furnish timely drink denied of heaven. 
63 



64 LIMITED. 

Yet o'er the sunny tilth beyond my hedges 
My eyes will wander with a strong desire ; 

And, but my master showed my solemn pledges, 
I should stray off, forgetful of my hire. 

From the bright pageant of the eastern heaven 
The lordly hours whereby our zeal is pent 

Rush, with their glowing coursers overdriven. 
Toward the late revel of the Occident, 

Ah, never one a moment stays or lingers 

Though we do throng their path with mad 
desires ; 

Grasp at their dizzy wheels with frenzied fingers, 
Wash with our bravest blood their ruthless tires. 

I think sometime my soul will cast this languor, 

The bondage-bred, and rise with thunderings ; 
Burst all the golden links in noble anger. 
And fling the fragments from her liberate wings. 



LIMITED. 65 

I think sometime my soul the cup will shatter, — 

Impatient of its hindrance, — by the force 
Of passionate thirst, — and, as the clay sherds 

scatter. 
Will press with bare lips to the very Source. 



VIGIL. 



Grudge not thy sleep, O Heart, but watch an 

hour. 
The white, bright moon 
Has wellnigh crossed the far celestial floor, 
With swift, still, silver shoon ; 
The sun stands waiting at the eastern door ; 
Deep in the wood each flower 
With folded petals waits, the blessed dawn ; 
The lawn 
Lies green and cool, drenched with the sweet, clear 

dew ; 
O peace ! O peace ! steal through me, through and 

through, 

For day will come too soon, 

66 



VIGIL. 67 

Far, from the marshy places, sounds a chant, 

That swells anon, 

In one strong wave ; then voice by voice expires. 

Till only one shrills on. 

The rath and faithful of the airy choirs. 

The bird whom naught doth daunt, 

The robin, and that one that doth repeat 

One sweet 

Sole name alway, and primrose-throated lark, 

Began their songs while yet the east was dark, 

And they but dreamed of sun. 

Let me drink in the fresh chill air, and lave 

Hot brow and cheek 

In the soft dampness. Let this blessed peace 

Unto my spirit speak 

Comfort and calm, for, with the light's increase, 

Care wakes. Now I am brave. 

The souls that struggle and the hearts that grieve 



68 VIGIL. 

Achieve 

A brief bright heaven under folded lids, 
Ere, as of old, the fair dawn angel bids 
Once more to strive and seek. 



A DAY OF FEBRUARY. 



What has this month to do with such a sky 

Of blue unspeakable, with clouds as soft 

And fair as overfloat some August noon ? 

The smiling sunny heavens so belie 

The nether chill, that, with my eyes aloft, 

I hear the lark's lilt, and the bee's bassoon, 

And the cicada's strident monotone. 

I breathe, I breathe the rapturous breezes, blown 

Athwart sweet acres, rich with clover bloom ; 

And feel the warm fern-flavored airs that stray 

From deep wood hollows, where moist mosses glow 

With vivid green, and, through the odorous gloom, 

Burns the wild lily. 

6q 



70 A DAY OF FEBRUARY. 

Ah, for one sole day 
Of summer ! 

The inexorable cold No 
Lies written o'er the world, but I translate 
Its stern denial to the message, Wait ! 



BABY ALICE. 



Sweet baby Alice, in her second summer, 
Fixes her wondering vision on the flowers, 

With interest new for every latest comer, 
Unmingled and unsurfeited, like ours. 

Her ignorance takes the fittest name to cover 
Whate'er of bloom her soft wide eyes espy ; 

And be it thistle, chicory, or clover. 
To her they all are " pansies " equally. 

So be it ; *^ thoughts " they are, O my small lisper, 
Of deeper truths than science can unsay. 

Their unseen Thinker teach thy faith to whisper 
In future years what ignorance speaks to-day. 
71 



72 BABY ALICE. 

Keep thee from doubt that turns the great book's 
pages 

Wherein those thoughts divine are bound for us, 
Reads one by one the chapters of the ages, 

And writes below the last, '* Anonymous." 



RUBINSTEIN'S MELODY IN F. 



A dim-lit room, a gleam of keys swept o'er 
By hovering hands. 

O Soul of Music ! what 
Is this you seek, and sorrow, finding not ? 
Venture and hope, doubt, fear, despair, — ay, more 
Than a life's life, stirred to its quivering core, 
Cries from the throbbing strings. While I, — if it 
Be I, who, trembling and enraptured sit, — 
Feel some strange spell renewed from long before. 

If this be joy I know not, or if pain, 
Or if the final burst of grand despair. 
Or some tried soul's delirious release. 
I only plead to hear the sounds again ; 
I do but beg the warm, impassioned air 
Hold yet the music when the player cease. 



73 



EOSTRE. 



Goddess of Dawn and Spring, just as of old, 
Come forth thy fair forerunners, bird and bee, 
Leafage and flower and smiling sky. Lo ! we 
Lift up glad hearts for all the promise told 
In such gay hieroglyphs of blue and gold 
And amethyst and rose. We almost see 
Thy wondrous shape float earthward in the free 
Warm air, most fair, mist-draperied, fold on fold. 
Yet, shrines deserted, and that race of men, 
Sun-haired and stalwart, gone, and with them fled 
Their weird beliefs, through lapse of years still glows, 
Still shines thy name as precious now as then 
Upon the brow of one sweet day. The dead 
Shall live. Light, dawn, and springtide ! Christ 
arose ! 



74 



NEW YEAR. 



Dear little child, I greet you. All do greet 
You, fair and bright and young, although your eyes 
. Of blue are deep, mysterious, overwise ; 
As ofttimes summer skies, serene and sweet, 
Hold yet a conscious shade, a sudden, fleet, 
Foreknowledge of near clouds, of storms that rise 
On swift still wings. 

Ah, child, the laughter dies. 
What has your baby glance we dare not meet ? 
I hold the soft and rosy hand. I kiss 
The smiling mouth. I will not be afraid ! 
Forgive me. Sweet, I clasp you warm and fast, 
I love you still so dearly, knowing this. 
That some, on whose glad bosoms you are laid, 
Will find you grown so heavy at the last. 



75 



THE POPLAR. 



One has, and one has not ; or has, indeed, 
A different. So the sweet old law abides, 
The law of compensation. Envy hides 
Her face before this tenet of our creed. 
For every loss, the loser holds some meed 
Of kind requital, and the One who guides 
The wavering balance, blesses while He chides. 
How plain the proof is written if we heed ! 

A desolate poplar stands beside the way, 
And from its heart this drear November day, 
Wild, faint, delicious perfumes steal, that seem 
Like zephyrs from the gardens of a dream. 
This truth repeat the poplar and the rhyme. 
He has made each thing lovely in its time. 



76 



PERE LA CHAISE. 



Not even here, still city of the dead, 

Remaineth that dear rest, toward which, through 

strife 
And pang and change, co-heritage with life. 
We all press on. Ah ! blessed low-laid bed, 
Whereon, above the worn world-weary head, — 
While patient grasses grow in peace, and weave 
Their tender green for those who come to grieve, — 
The sweet a perpetuite vs, read. 

Sooth, naught can stay the enfranchised soul from 

flight 
To that far real Forever's waiting rest, 
Whatever wrong its late-shed vestments know ; 
Yet, from the pillows where that guardian slight 
Holds final hush about some slumbering breast, 
We seek with tears those undefended so. 

77 



MILKWEED IN MIDWINTER. 



You stand so patient by the wayside still ; 

Poor weed ! the time of growth and bloom is gone ; 

You have o'erstayed the joy ; the sad winds moan 

Across the lonely fields, so white and chill, 

And the dead grass lies prostrate on the hill. 

Your blood is frozen and your life is done. 

And still you linger, piteous skeleton, 

While all around you winter has his will. 

And now, as sometime lay, in autumn noon, 

Your wondrous burden, vanished all too soon. 

The wind in sport, or mockery, or brusque 

Compassion, heaps with snow each vacant husk. 

O mask of life ! O hearts bereft, that so 

Reach out vain hands for summer and find snow ! 



78 



WARNING. 



Ah, love her not ! she is the bride of dream. 
Lest if thou love and she should yield to thine 
A palm reluctant, thou should'st notice shine 
Deep in her eyes upturned an alien gleam 
Not lit for thee. Be jealous. Rather deem 
Thine altar blessed void of fire divine 
Than that a rival priesthood share the shrine. 
Thou seest the real, she the things that seem. 

Or if thou love, and she, for thy dear sake, 
Renounce her gift, be patient and be proud. 
She giveth more than most, and less than most. 
Less than thou cravest, more than thou can'st take. 
Durst thou receive a bride so strange endowed ? 
Is it unequal wedding ? count the cost. 



79 



NULLA DIES SINE LINEA. 



No day without its line. O Poet, read 

The painter's maxim as 't were writ for you. 

Methinks the Spirit loveth those who sue 

And will not be denied. What though you plead 

Awhile in vain ? what though no mortal heed ? 

Is not the bliss that thrills you through and through 

Enough for aye ? Be sure when it is due 

The watchful years will not delay your meed. 

No day without its line. (O happy year 

So calendared !) Thus shall your whole frame 

grow 
Habituate to music, by degrees. 
And render to your soul's unerring ear 
As true response as to the master's bow 
The voice of his beloved Cremonese. 



80 



TO RAOULA. 



Lo, on the tearful trouble of the sky 

The opal troth-ring of the rain and sun ! 

My Rainbow-faced ! so is thy smile undone 

By thy sad eyes ; thy dimples so belie 

Thy forehead's pathos, lifting playfully 

Their chalices for whatso drops may run. 

Sweet, is there sackcloth with thy samite spun ? 

What cruel thorn is hid where none may spy ? 

Not once those merry sentinels forsake 

Their watch beside thy mouth. That unknown 

ache 
Abateth not. No swift excess of bliss 
Doth cancel this most strange antithesis. 
Yet do I know the lips shall triumph, Dear, 
Thine eyes forget their grief some day, — not here ! 



8i 



UNSUNG. 



Happy, thrice happy, those whom a firm voice, 
Here shalt thou walk^ f orbiddeth to elect. 
So many many priceless hours are wrecked 
Just from the sole embarrassment of choice, 
What joy to take among a world of joys. 
The meteors of the possible reflect 
Upon the real, its still skies intersect 
With brilliance, and our souls lose equipoise. 

Ah, my dead songs, the songs I might have sung ! 
What alien service claimed my faithless tongue ? 
The world's unworthy wage to me seemed good, — 
Ah, my dead songs ! it was the price of blood. 
Who knows what glorious message God had sent, 
Had he found one devoted instrument ? 



82 



ON AN ETCHING BY J. A. MONKS. 



Down from the cool, pale zenith, the clear sky 
Stretches in rich crescendo of warm light. 
Till, at the rim, its brilliance blinds the sight 
With its accumulate splendor. Conversely, 
From the low-dipping pasture, where am I, 
Up the still slope, the gathering dusk of night 
Runs deepening to the brow, where it doth smite 
Its climax on the other, gorgeously. 

A flock of sheep trail up the russet rise, 

Toward where the farmstead roofs gleam brightly 

black 
Against the radiant heaven. The peevish cries 

83 



84 SONNET. 

Of the young lambs, the ewes* quick answering 

back, 
Come sweet upon the hush. I hear the bars 
Drop. All is still ; and, lo, the first shy stars ! 



DIVIDED. 



I cannot reach thee, we are far, so far 
Apart who are so dear ! 

Love, be it so ; 
Else we might press so close we should not grow. 
One doth deny even this so sweet a bar 
For fear our souls* true shape should suffer mar. 
Ah, surface-sundered, yet do we not know 
A hidden union in the deeps below ? 
An intertwining where the strong roots are ? 
So husbandmen plant trees, Sweetheart, a space 
Between. Complete the figure. High in air ' 
After the trees are grown, their spreading boughs 
Reach forth and mingle. In some far glad place, 
When thou and I are straight and tall and fair, 
We shall clasp hands again, — if God allows. 



^5 



NOVEMBER. 



And now at last, from out the thoughtful sky, 
Floats dreamily the winter's first white pledge. 
The sparrows seek the shelter of the hedge. 
The doves fly home. The crow's discordant cry 
Reechoes through the stillness, drearily. 
In leaf-choked pools, and in the river-edge, 
The gathering ice films irk the whispering sedge. 
In the wood margin towers stark and high 
Sere golden-rod. The starwort thickets glow 
With myriad downy disks, as white as snow. 
The milkweed scatters all the faded sods 
With the last treasures of her rifled pods. 
Far in the purple north, a slender girth 
Of dazzling primrose clasps the sober earth. 



86 



THE DEAD WORD. 

' ' There is going forward a continual extinction of the words 
of our language . ' ' — Trench . 



Ah, speak it very softly, it is dead. 

So soon the sad estrangement on its face 

Familiar but a brief time gone. Its place 

Knows it no more. Be no cold judgment said, 

Of harsh or sweet ; let death be hallowed. 

From the far silence of a by-gone race 

A choir of spirit voices plead for grace, 

To whom this word was dear in days long fled. 

How fresh it shone on many a thoughtful scroll 
Now turned to dust ! From many a fervent soul 
On eager wings of praise and prayer it sprung. 
How warm it fell from^ love's impassioned tongue ! 
Yet lies it there and with no lip to own, 
With all its life and all its meaning gone. 

87 



DECEMBER. 

Ah, VN^hat a chaste and passionless despair ! 
Earth, like the sculptor's Slave, in silence stands, 
With the cold shackles on her passive hands, 
Dreaming of life and freedom. (Past compare 
Those soft contours, that face so sad and fair. 
That radiant pallor !) Will she not forget 
Sometime the bondage and the fetters' fret, 
And lift her eyes and smile ? O who shall dare 
To doubt before the witness of the years ? 
For the fair Greek, captivity and tears 
Forever ; no rapt Cyprian by the might 
Of conquering love those marble links shall smite. 
But for the patient earth, with suffering spent, 
Fulfilled desire and sure enfranchisement. 



AT PARTING. 



Once more farewell ! our lives drew hither out 

Of dusk and silence, and again draw back 

To mystery. We did not feel the lack 

Until we saw the sail, and heard the shout, 

And felt the clasp. The same winds blow without, 

One port 's behind,— and one dread chance of 

wrack 
Before ; one harbor beckons sloop and smack ; 
Beneath all craft yawn the same deeps of doubt, 
But, lit for all, shine stars and one sweet Sun. 
Ah, friend, pray Heaven clear the pilot's sight 
For berg and bank ; God guard the throbbing play 
Of the great heart, and feed its fires. One 
Long look, — one last swift smile, — a sudden white 
About the lips, — good-bye ! — is it for aye ? 



89 



TO M. A. D. 



My dear, my friend, I have no words for pleading 

That God will bring me somewhere near you soon, 

But all my soul cries eager for the boon ; 

And all my dumb heart begs but with its bleeding. 

I cling, I cling to the sweet days receding ; 

The present peace to only feel you near. 

The knowledge I might find you close and dear, 

With sympathy for any sudden needing. 

Your face has been my keynote for the day ; 

If that were glad, then glad I needs must be, 

And if I read there pain and care, alway 

The light went out of sun and sky for me. 

Oh, if my thirst has drunk too deep, you know 

It is because I loved, I love you so ! 



90 



MARSH ROSEMARY. 



O the low salt marshes are green by the Sound ; 

There thick, rank grass has grown, 
With mists of rosemary over it all, 

Like morning vapors blown. 

We sailed to westward yestereve, 

While over fair blue sky 
The rosy flakes of sunset cloud 

In splendor drifted by. 

And on the wave the rose and blue 

Were mingled into one, 
As we did sail a royal way 

To the Palace of the Sun. 
91 



92 MARSH ROSEMARY. 

And that 's the hue of rosemary bloom ; 

'T is neither blue nor rose ; 
But as sometimes a quiet sea 

The wedded color shows. 

O wear marsh rosemary, Dear, for me 
As sign of our plighted vow ! 

For it endures so long, as fresh 
And bright as this is now. 

And while I sail so far away 
Nor sight of shore be found, 

At sunset I shall think of you 

And the marshes green by the Sound. 



DUSK OR DAWN ? 



I. 

There is a season 'twixt the time of bloom 

And time of snow, overblown of fitful rain, 

When grass is dead, nor leaves nor flowers remain ; 

When, sole sweet promise shining through the gloom. 

Last fabric of the summer's weary loom, 

The late wheat paints the field with emerald stain, 

Till we half think the spring has come again, 

And half distrust the winter's day of doom. 

Ah, Friend, what season is it 'twixt us two ? 
This passionate rain may leave our heavens blue 
And clear, or it may chill itself to sleet. 
What waits next moon, our tender new-sprung 
wheat ? 

93 



94 DUSK OR DAWN ? 

Who knows if it shall flourish tall and proud, 
Or lifeless lie beneath its sky-spun shroud ? 

II. 

There are two twilights ; 'twixt the day and night 
Lie the dim borderlands of eve and dawn ; 
The soft, still gloaming, when the sun is gone, 
Yet leaves the sky and all the landscape bright 
With his last smile ; and when the first rays smite 
The morning sky, and early mists are drawn, 
In fine, frail, opal webs from lake and lawn. 
Like flocks of dreams in their belated flight. 

Ah, Friend, dear Friend, 't is twilight with us twain ; 
Heart twilight ; who shall say, O v/ho shall say 
Whether this wavering light shall wax or v/ane ? 
If glow or gloom shall win this doubtful gray ? 
If this warm flush the break of day forerun. 
Or be the farewell of a dear, lost sun ? 



REFUGE. 

St, yohns Gospel, zd : 67-68. 



To whom, to whom ! the evening shadows fall, 

And nestward all the wandering birds have flown ; 

But still the homeless soul remains alone, 

Most needy and most desolate of all. 

The bitter night drops round her like a pall, 

And o'er her eyes of faith a mist is blown. 

How many tear-wet shrines ^' to the unknown " 

Outside of olden Athens' pagan wall ! 

What waste of incense ere the better way 

We learn at last, to hearken and obey. 

Still is that saying hard, and, as of yore. 

Some turn away and follow Him no more. 

Forgive, if more despair than faith wring out 

The cry of Peter from a mist of doubt ! 



95 



TO ROBERT COLLYER. 



Unknown, unknowing, still I write thee friend. 
Though if we met, and I should thrust a hand 
Impulsive, thou wouldst gaze in mild demand 
And see a stranger face, yet shall the end, 
When veils are dropped, that dear name*s use de- 
fend. 
Even as I write the word I see thee stand 
With face uplifted, as thou saw that land 
Of happy hope, and, as its ruth did send 
One swift sole ray to meet thy strenuous prayer, 
A smile of sunshine, breaking 'thwart the lips, 
Augments the aureole of thy silver hair. 
I hear the voice that halts and half-ways trips, 
As though it found earth's best speech not o'er good 
With Heaven's ov/n language almost understood. 



96 



BLANCO. 



Deep in the hearth-rug he lies asleep, 

And over his length 

Of lithe young strength 
The shadows of slumber-land slowly creep. 

A drowsy growl that I understand, — 

A nightmare bay, — 

Ah, w^hither away ? 
For a bird of dream in the poppied land ? 

The graceful shape of a long desire ; 

A Landseer pose 

From tail to nose. 

With head laid prone toward the purring fire. 
97 



98 BLANCO. 

Purely white as a winter drift, 

With flecks gold brown, 

(Correctly sown !) 
And orbs to match when his eyelids lift. 
* * * * * 

Blanco ! a flash of sudden white ; 

Two amber eyes 

To mine uprise, 
Earnest, questioning, bright, alight. 

What do you think when I lay my hand 

On your velvet crown, 

Or ears of down, 
And talk to you, do you understand ? 

Friend, does that searching vision track 

Afar yet near, 

A superior sphere, 
A glimpse of a soul and your own long lack ? 



BLANCO. 99 

I soothe my palm in these snowy curls 

The throat-band irks, 

Till the wave that lurks 
Breaks out aneath in silvery swirls. 

I loose the collar, caress and bless 

You playfully, 

Till on my knee 
Gently a loving chin doth press ; 

And up from the depth of some canine woe 

A soft, long sigh 

Heaves mournfully. 
Never was dog so sad I trow ! 

***** 

I read you well, do you kiss or cringe ; 

Mild deprecation 

Or wild elation 
Speaks by the voice of that caudal fringe. 



lOO BLANCO. 

No need of words to its guilty sag, 

No plea to back 

Its humble thwack, 
No smile or shout for that rapturous flag. 

I know you but you know not me, — 

Some words alone, 

A change of tone, — 
Though you listen never so eagerly ; 

A boon of a bone, remorse of the rod. 

Rudiment ruth, 

Guesses for truth, — 
Humanity's heaven and I your God, 

Whereto you gaze and worship, mute ; 

While, as dumb and fond, 

To my heaven beyond 
I lean and yearn, O my fellow brute ! 



BLANCO. lOI 

I hear its speech and I make my guess ; 

I understand 
When I am banned, 
And when the Hand doth beckon and bless- 

Ah, friend, your heaven is barred for aye ! 

You will never speak, 

Your god is weak, 
Will sicken and fail like you some day. 

Your heaven has envy, and grief, and crime, 

Your frail god weeps. 

And thirsts and sleeps. 
Fettered of flesh, the thrall of time. 

Keep the smileless mouth and tearless eye, 

The unvexed sleep. 

I shall not keep 
The fever and fret and strife and cry. 



102 BLANCO. 

For my God is strong and my Heaven is sweet ; 

I shall one day reach 

Its occult speech 
And search its secrets with speed-shod feet ! 
***** 

And yet, ah Heaven of Humanhood ! 

If that were all, 

I yet must call 
It rich with blessing and grace and good. 

And were no Hope beyond, I think. 

Were my life at stake, 

To lose or take, 
I should lift the cup to my lips, — and drink. 

***** 
Well, you have slept while I have thought. 

Listen ! a clink 

Of link on link ! 
A link means a chain, a chain means — what ? 



BLANCO. 103 

Hat, and whistle, and gloves. Glad heart ! 

Curvet and prance. 

And whine and dance. 
Up to the latch ! it is time to start. 

Now to the winds with thought and care. 

Youth and health. 

The sun's wide wealth 
For dog and mistress, and fine free air ! 



END. 



^ 





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